Evening Star Newspaper, December 26, 1926, Page 74

THE SUNDAY STAR. WASHINGTON, D. O, DECEMBER 26, 1926—PART 5. THE BUTTON What Happened When Barbara Hunted Freedom and a Job. ARBARA LOCKE had been what every one called high- spirited girl. Even as a child, she had quarreled—over noth- ing at all—with her friend and playmate of never made up with him ing at all over which they quarreled was as to whose yard they should play in that afternoon, his or her: In the co-educational college she at- tended, she was the first zirl to be elected editor of the college paper. Her graduating essay was on “Wom- an’s Place in the World." She wanted to go to New get a joh on a mazazine her parents objected, she horrowed the | money from a sympathetic oid-maid aunt and went anyway. She was not quite 21 vears old. On the train from the Middle West to New York, she hecame acquainted with a_hig. helpless-looking. black- | haired vouth. They told each other | their names. His was Henry Ri He was on his way to New York make his fame and fortune. The ex citement of their common adventure drew them together, and they were good friends by the time they had reached the end of their journey He was concerned about her safety in the great, strange city. But she laughed at him. She was going first to a hotel, and then she would look for a room in Greenwich Village. She intended to become acquainted with the writers and artists there. He was wistfully impressed by her daring ambitions. He himself had no such romantic hopes. He thought he would make a good salesman. He had sold one thing and another in his Summer vacations to pay his way through college. And he wanted to be in New York, vecause that was | where big things were going on. He was 22 years old. After she had left him at the sub. way entrance—for she firmly refused his well meant offer to see her to her hotel—she wondered what she liked about him. His his helpless- ness and his bla ad somehow appealed to her. But he W other respects like thousands voung men. There was nothing extraor- dinary about him. He would have & harder time getting along in New York than she would. She was a little sorry for hin Perhaps that was why she had agreed to have dinner with him on Thursday. He was to call for her at the hotel at 7. By the time he came, she had found a room into which she would move tomorrow. She had also discovered a nice little restaurant in the Village, and she proposed that they go there for dinner. - “Why not here at the hotel?” he asked. ~ She knew that he didn’t have much money. and she suspected that he had eaten in lunchroms in the intervals of his search for a job; and she smiled at the folly of masculine pride. “Wait till we've landed some work,” she said. And she insisted on sharing the check between them. He demurred at that, but at last gave in, explaining shamefacedly that he had had his pocket picked the day before, €0 that he had lost about half of his smalll store of money. Inwardly she remem- bered, with some malicious satisfac- tlon, his anxiety as to her abilit take care of herself in this strange city. She said nothing of that, however, but offered to lend him some money. He flatly refused the offer, and even seemed a little hurt and angry. So that she had to agree, for the sake of his pride, to another dinner the following evening. . * ok Xk X York and nd when 'HEY continded to dine together frequently during the next weeks and months. Because he suffered so in letting her pay half of the check, she let him pay it all when they were out to a restaurant, but she could manage a little cooking in her room, and so she invited him there most of the time. One evening he came to her place glowing with triumph. He had a job ‘with an automobile company. He was #0 happy that she did not tell him that ahe had a job in prospect. She felt that that would dim his triumph. When he drew his commission on his first month’s work he insited on taking her to dinmer. Then she did mention casually that she had begun to work for a magazine. Through dinner she wondered why she should like this helpless boy. And it was with no forewarning at all, Jater in the evening, that she found herself profoundly disturbed by the question of whether she would marry him. It began, simply enough, with Colors That Protect. IMANY curious facts ‘about the ef- fects of particular colors and markings of birds, insects and other creatures in concealing them from their enemies have been collected by naturalists, and the theory of “pro- tective mimicry” has been pushed far in some cases. An interesting observation bearing on this subject is recorded by an of. ficer of the Carnegie Institution, About 300 chicks of various colors and patterns were allowed to run at large in a pasture. In less than two hours crows had killed 24. The officer in- spected the slaughtered chieks and found that they included 10 whites, 13 blacks, 1 coarsely mottled gray and buff, but not a single chick with pen ciled” markings more or les like those of ordinary jungle-fowl or game. 'Vhls,‘ it thought, was due to the relative inconspicuousness of the pen clled birds and indicated that the colors arising under domestication in creased the danger to the others, Globular Lightnig. AN eminent scientist says of this rare phenomenon, the reality of which has frequently been called into question, that after having been for a long time in doubt about it, his doubts have been dispelled. The near- est he has ever come to observing a “lightning ball” was the hearing of its explosion. The ball itself was seen by a friend who happened to be looking in the right direction when the investigator himself was looking another way. No rational hypothesis, it is sald, exists to explain such a phenomenon, as there is nothiag in the laboratory which closely resem- bles it. From descriptions, the balls ippear to vary from one inch to one foot in dlameter. When they disap- pear there is usually an explo generally with slight dan Some have n described as en build- ings and going out of a door or win- dow is Curious Fossil Find. ROM the clay of a railway cut ting near Spokane, in the State of Washington, there was found a tiny bit of vegetable fiber, the leaf of ‘a gingko-tree which must have flourished _something _like 100,000 years ag sreater of course, but this leaf is still a leaf, not a mere imprint in stone; and it is beyond question the oldest known bit of vegetable matter in the world. The particular species 10 which it belonged became long ago: its only surviving 1s the gingko-tree of Ja pearan the point where it found proves to geolog that grew and fell when the Cascade and Coast Range Mountains had not yet been formed. and the Hocst wm #clvesdwere young. re Its ap was tinct | ive | fore, she took up the plaster statuette | the t fri a kiss in Central Park. And then he She h: those kisses h shaken by that kiss. boys before, but meant nothing. This one melted her, it _seemed, as a_rock is melted, but still she was only astonished at this sudden weakness, until he asked her to marry him. to her, wish in and soms newly her mind wanted “Yes." She shut her lips word. “Oh, 1 don’t know, tormentedly. “Wait, dear me now!™ Then, with that gained, there seemed to be no reason why she should not let him kiss her again Afterward she remembered sayving she loved him. But now, fely away from him, she desperately hoped not She evaded him for a week. And dur. ing that week she thought of nothing, day and night, except him-— his big nese and helplessness and his black hair, and his arms around her, and his Kisses on her mouth. Nothing else seemed to matter. Within a month they were married. * X0 HE had always.liked her name— Barbara Locke: In imagination she had seen it featured on the covers of magazines. She had intended to make that name famous. But now without a demur, she became Mrs Riggs. She felt secretly proud of being Mrs. Riggs And that was odd, because the name Riggs meant noth. ing—yet. Of course, he wouldn't be doing this Kind of work for long; it was just an opening for him. Mean while, she went on working. They needed the monew she earned, even if it was only a little, and she enjoyed being really his helpmate. But when he wad called to New Jersey, of course, she had to go along, and she left the magazine. He had worked up rapidly, and in a little more than three vears he was glven the position of assistant man agen of the New Jersey branch. It was a_wonderful opportunity. and she was very happy about it. They lived now in a pretty New Jersey suburb and had a Every morning she drove him down to the statlon to catch his train, and every evening she went down to the station to drive him home, Another year passed. hk iy AND then one morning when Henry had just put on a shirt, he took it off again and threw it violently on the floo “What's the asked anxiously. “That shirt just came from the laundry yesterday—I put it in your bureau drawer myself." “The thing has a button off the front,” he said fretfully. “I don't see why T can’t have my buttons sewed on! It isn't as though you had any- thing else to do."” Barbara sat still, looking at the pat tern on the wallpaper. answer Henry’s contrite She sat there until she heard the front gate click; and then she rose and went into her own room. From a closet she rummaged out an old suit case with the initials “B. L." on it, and from the garret her portable typewriter, long disused. Then she began packing her clothes, choosing carefully. When she had finished, and dressed in an old tailored suit, she took her suit case in one hand and her portable typewriter in other and went out. “I'm through,” she said to herself, and caught the car for the station, where she bought a ticket for New York. She went to her old hotel, registered as Barbara Locke and went out to look for a furnished room in Green- wich Village. She had looked at and decided against several places to live, when she turned a corner and found herself a few steps from the house where she had lived nearly five years ago. There was a ‘“room-for-rent” sign out, and she smiled, wondering if her old room were empty. She rang. and,a young woman answered the bell. Mrs. Casey here?” Barbara asked. It would be good to see her old landlady again. “Mrs. Casey's out,” said the girl. “But I'm her daughter.” Mrs. Casey, Barbara knew, had a daughter; but this was the first time Barbara had ever seen her. She had heard Mrs. Casey tell more than once of Sarah Ellen and her troubles with her husband Jim. So this was Sarah Ellen! She had seemed, five years ago, in Barbara’s mind, to constitute a good argument against marriage—an argument, however, which Barbara had forgotten all about, just at the time when it might have done some g0o0d to remember it. “I'm Barbara Locke,” she said, uttering the name as proudly as in the days when she had intended to make it famous; “and I used to have the back room on the second floor. Is it by any chance for rent?” Yes,” said the girl, “it is that. Do you want it again?" to reply, don't ask matter, dear?" she | | | "I think 1 do,” | tollowed up the stairs. said Barbara, and | proposed to her, while she was still | was in here,” said the girl. | kissed | back after it, and I'll leave it outside ad | the door She was dismayed, for | her little typewriter on the table, un- | that question interpreted her emotions | awakened | kevs. ainst that | bent the creases from it, and inserted she said | it again | respite | “Oh, that belongs to the fellow that “He'll be here for him.” went away. Barbara unpacked her clothes and hung them on the wall behind the cur- | tain that served for a closet. She put | And she locked it m its case and raised the There was still in the roller a | faded sheet of paper. She took it out, refully She had to write something. And. | because nothing else came into her mind to write, she made what looked | like a poem by one of the Younger | School: The fox jumped over the quick brown 1a dog. Then she reached oves to where th. cigarettes and matches lay on the table, lighted up, and sent a cou. cloud of smoke across the room. “‘Barbara Locke's herself again, she whispered. It didn't need any effort of the imagination to transport herself back through those five years to the ro- mantic past which this room so vivid- ly symbolized. She was back there— at the happy age of almost 21, just arrived in New York, and facing the world with courage and curiosity ana the will to success. Life lay before her. She could make of it what .she chose. When a girl married, she became— a wife. She ceased to he a person And what was worse, by some terrible alchemy which marriage brought, she didn’t care. She was happy in just being that man's wife. She gave up her ambitions. She gave up her name. She lived in and through him. She had no life of her own: she existed to love him, and comfort him, and sew his buttons on. That was all a man wanted of a woman. Well, she wouldn't be a wife. That was settled. She was golng to write. She turned again to her typewriter. * K Kk % AN‘D then Mrs. Casey spoiled it all First there was a discreet tap at the door, and then Mrs. Casey, looking very sympathetic, entered. The same Casey unchanged by the years. h, Mrs. Riggs!” she said. I'm not Mrs. Riggs,” sald Barbara defiantly, springing up. You poor darling child!” said Mrs. advancing with outstretched s. “Well do T know the troubles that women have to bear! Tell me all about {t!" “There’s nothing to tell,” sald Bar- bara sternly. “Of course there isn't,”” said Mrs. Casey heartily. “Don’t say a wor Just put your little head right here, and she indicated her broad bosom, “and cry your heart out." Barbara’t first emotion was of dis- gust at this ridiculous invitation: ana her next emotion was of surprise, as she found herself unreservedly ac- cepting it. She had got rid of Mrs. Casey at last. She was ashamed of that out~ burst of emotion. But, after all, it had served to clear her mind. She had stopped crying #nd said to Mrs. Casey, bitterly: Oh, you're right, I'm just a woman after all! And what foolish creatures wonien are!” ““They're as the Lord made them,” sald M: Casey tolerantly. “It's not for me to be criticizing them. But T will say that it does seem queer some- times, the way we have to take on about some poor stick of a man. But there's no getting around it. That's the way we are.” . “But you don’t behave that way, Mrs. Casey—do you?” asked Barbara. “To tell the truth, T don't—not any more. But you shouldn’t judge 1t me. Bless your heart, I'm an old re robate; easy come, easy go, is my motto. T've my house to bother about. But I was as foolish as any woman in the world when I had a husband of my own.” “Mrs. Casey,” said Barbara ear- nestly, “what is there about marriage that does this to us? I'd like to | didn’t know!" “¥Ol / But Mrs. Casey had expressed all her wisdom already; for the rest of | ; The room was as she had left it; the | her stay she was vague and repeti- !tle iron bedstead, the table; onl) when she had first come here, There are fossils of even | old couch, the battered chairs, the lit-| tious, as five and when she found that Mr. [ Riggs neither got drunk and beat her, | nor gambled away all his money, nor vears ago, the table had a plush cov-|ran after other women, she was in- |ering and a simpering | statuette of Cupid on it. And, as she had done five vears he plaster lined to be indignant at Barbara. You don’t know what a prince among men you've got!" she said. “That's 1ble with women—when they're in one hand, pulled off the cloth with | lucky, they don't know it!” other, and 1ke these away to write on.” e paid her rent what's that " h | small parcel on the foor handed I want i the them over- ra week e Jut nting to a s ul. & this table | By Floyd Bell C represented, as she realized, the world. Nobody would understand any better than Mrs. Casey. But she held her head defiantly erect and thought: “I've got a right to be myself. That comes first of all. And if marriage prevents that, it's wrong. People can think what they like. They're all un- der the matrimonial illusion. I've been, for nearly five vears. Now I've got over it, and I' going to stay over it. T can't help it if Henry's heart breaks, pect. It won't be ea to go through with But I'm going Only—how did | it happen?™ She tried to puzzle that out. “It wasn't his fault any more than it was mine. We drifted into it. 1 stopped being myself just to please him then she paused to wonder: “Why he stop being himself just to please me And the answer came, “Men just don't, that's all.” She thought again: “I gave up my job and moved with him to that little New Jersey suburb. Why? Because we were married, and married people want to’ live together. But my job was in New York. Why didn't he give up his job and the chance of pro- motion and stay with me?"" And the answer came, “I'd have despised him if he had!" Yes, it was true: he cared about his work more than about love: and that was why she loved him. But she had cared about him more than about her work; and that was why she despised herself. But he hadn't despised her for being that way. He hadn’t minded her changing from what she had been to just a woman who sewed on his buttons. No, he liked it. And that was why she hated him. But, after, all, it was her own look out. It was too easy to blame some one else for what happened to one self. He had kept on doing’ what he wanted to do; and she had stopped. She had stopped to help him. Be- cause she loved him. Doubtless that was the reason. But why had she loved him? Perhaps because he needed her help! That was so absurd that it might well be the truth, she reflected. And she grew angry. Must women be like that? Must they care so lit- tle for their work and so much for some man? If it was splendid in a man to care greatly for his work, why shouldn’t it be splendid in a woman? She turned again to her typewriter, fiercely. But she had noth. ing to write. She looked about for a stray news- paper. RBut there was none, and she opened the door to go out. In the hall, her foot struck against some- thing on the floor. She picked it up, and then remembered that it was the parcel she had seen in her room. It was loosely wrapped, and felt like a book. She took it back into her room and unwrapped it. A pink-covered book—“The Concise Oxford Diction- “Words want!" out: A, Aaron's abaft she said. “Just what I And she sat down and copied an, aard-vark, Aaron's beard, vod, aback, abacus, Abaddon, ! until both sides of her sheet of paper were covered with words. And then, feeling hungry, and discovering from her watch that it was halfway through the afternoon, she went out to get something to eat. * X ¥ % AS she went out, a man came in; and she particularly noted him, because he looked as though he might be a younger brother to Henry. . . . She realized that she had not thought of Henry for a whole hour, while she was copying those silly, lovely words on paper. She did not want to go to one of the village restaurants, because she might meet some one she knew: and she did not want to have to explain— vet. She would have a dellcatessen iunch in her own room. She bought slices of meat and bread, butter, pickles, coffee, sugar, cream, and a cheap alcohol cooking outfit to make the coffee on. When she opened her door, she thought it was Henry sitting there waiting for her. But no, it wasn't Henry—it was that boy who might have been his younger brother. whom she had seen entering the hous A/ POOR DARLING CHILD!” SAID MRS. CASEY. “WELL DO I KNOW THE TROUBLES THAT WOMEN HAVE TO BEAR! TELL ME ALL ABOUT IT!” “Oh!" ghe said, clinging tight to the big bag of food she had almost drop- ped. He turned from where he was sit- ting at the table, thumbing the leaves of the ‘little dictionary—and then jumped up. “I'm sorry! And then, as he said nothing else, she told him severely, “This is my room."” “I suppose so,” he sald. “You see, it was mine.” She again sald “Oh!” And she added, “"Then that is your dictionary.” His presence thus satisfactorily ac- counted for, she put down her bundle of food. “Yes,” he sald, “I thought—" “Well?” “I _saw somebody had been using my_dictionary “Yes—I was “I didn’t know, of course. And T thought—I was waiting here for that person to come back. 1 thought \Sn Barbara, left at last alone, had to think things for herself. She was a little shaken by the memory of Mrs, Casey's reproaches. For ‘lrs he might possibly need a dictionary. And I was hopinz 1 could sell it to— him. That,” he concluded painfully, Mine will break, too, T ex- | And | | | | | AND MEETING SOME LOOK OF TENDERNESS IN HER EYES, THE BOY MELTED, AND FLUNG HIMSELF AT HER FEET, WITH H HER LAP, CRYING. HEAD | “is how I came to be in vour room.” | there was a girl mixed up in it. With She suddenly realized that this boy, [a little more difficulty she got that who might be Henry's younge! brother, was by means =0 well- nourished as Henry: in fact, he looked as though he were starving. “I do need a dictlonary,” she said. “We'll talk about it in just a moment. I'm making myself some lunch now. Won't you join me? Please do. My name is Barbara Locke. What's yours?” She smiled and held out her ‘hand. “Hugh Lorimer,” he said. think that T can—" “Sit down,” she said firmly. He sat down. “You're a writer?” she asked, pres. v, as she put the coffee on. ort of.” n “T don't “Well he admitted un comfortably. “‘Here,” she said, giving him a plate with a big sandwich and a pickle, “start in on this. The coffee will be ready in a minute. He was hungry. But was the coffee that thawed him out. He began to talk, and without much difficutt she had his whole story. It was simple enough. He had told it all when he said he was a poet But poet,” it | him—a fierce, tender, shy, passionate, out of him, too. They had been en- gaged back at home in the’ South, he said. He had come to New York to look for a newspaper job, and had so far failed to find one. Then she had written to him, urging him to come home; her father would give him a job as a salesman, she wrote, and they could be married. That was what hurt—that she didn't belleve in him. . “Don't softly And meeting some look of tender. ness in her eyes, the boy melted and flung himself at her feet, with his head in her lap, crying. Barbara caressed the soft black hair of his head and felt a flerce contempt for that girl. He lifted his face and looked at her, hungry for woman's devotion. And she stooped and kissed vyou care!” sald Barbara impersonal kiss—womankind's tribute to the mankind that needs it and will stumble and fail in a dark world with- out it. And holding him in her arms talked to him. “Don’t you care, whispered. ‘‘She isn't worth it. he | she | You | And she will be sorry 1s will show her. And you'll find plenty of nicer g who will believe in you. “Do you believe in me?” he asked. Yes,” she sald and Kkissed him again, He stood_up, ashamed of his child- ishness. “I don't know what's been the matter with me,” he said. She knew; the matter with him was that he was a man. But she didn't tell_him so. “You're all right now, aren’t you?" “Yes,” he said. And she knew he was. He looked around for his hat. “You were going to let me buy your dictionary,” she reminded him He flushed. “Oh, I couldn't let you buy it,” he said She knew that argue the matter. a little money to him now? what was really necessa newed belief in himself that woman can give. “Won't you take brance?” he said. “For remembrance; 3 They shook hands, and he strode out. At the door he turned and sai “You've been wonderful!” it was useless to Besides, what was He had ~the re- only a it—for remem- Emperor of Chefs Makés Selections she thought to herself, “1'¢ call it ssomething else. But if I just can't help being wonderful—" Laughing softly, she packed up and went home and sewed the button on Henry's shirt. W HE had just finished with the but ton when Henry came in. He was contrite and she forgave him, “But what's that?" he asked, a_pink-covered book on h table. “Oh, him, That night she turned the leaves ary and said to it “Little book, you belong to me now All your silly. lovely words are mine And they will help me to remember all the silly, lovely thought T had be- fore I became just a woman. For hours at a_time I shall be my old free self. Between times I shall he my woman-self again for a man's sake. He shall have his wife to love him and comfort him, and even per | haps sew his buttons on. But there shall be a Barbara Locke, too, by Heaven!” eeing work just a dictiopary,” (she told before she went to hed of the dietion she added fiercely. (Copyrizht. 1926.) For Imaginary Feast to Suit a King BY FRANK MAITLAND. AT simple food."” This is the advice of Au- guste Escoffier, the em- peror of chefs, whose fa- mous menus are perhaps the most rich and complicated in the world. ¥ But on Christmas, New Year, birth- days, and other gala occasions, or for the noon meal on Sundays, M. Escof fier advises the hungry to turn loc That is what his menus are for. Fete de dimanche—a rich, rare Christmas or Sunday dinner—that is good for you,” he says. “Compli- cated menus are bad as a steady diet, but when you make a gala occasion of a feast it stirs your system In the right way: it pleases mind and bod it becomes a help instead of a hin- drance. M. Escoffier is chief culinary expert of the Ritz enterprises. He has trained literally thousands of ‘well known kitchen authorties. His pupils are scattered to every important part of the globe. So when, as a guest of the Cunard Company, he came to America recently, 200 of his old friends gave him one of the most elaborate ban- quets ever prepared at the elaborate Ambassador Hotel in New York. I met this master of the menu in the private office of his old friend and pupil, Charles Scotto, the $35,000 chef of the Ambassador. There, in the center of the great kitchens, sur- rounded by white-coated cuisiniers at the counters, gleaming with myriad copper utensils, amid the fizz and sizzle of the great ranges and auto- matic cauldrons, we discussed the fine art of eating. Escoffier is 80 years old, a diminu- tive, towsel-haired, white-mustached, but vital and dignified man. His face is expressive of the best qualities of his Latin race, seamed after the man- ner of Clemenceau's and Foch's and with those lines which disclose a domi- neering kindness. His manner is gruff, kinetic. “Personally, I never eat dinner,” he said. 13 hat do 1 thought, you eat, monsieur? 1 shall have some- thing of real interest. What does this man, who knows all the best dishes, whose speciality is the proper food combinations, what does he ask for himself? What would you prefer, above all other meals?” Escoffier laughed, then grunted. “Mon cher, monsieur,” he said. “I am married. I take what my wife gives me. I never enter her kitchen. We have a large meal in the middle of the day, but at dinner time I prefer to take only a. little soup and eat some fruit. Otherwise my wife is my chef de_cuisine. Nevertheless, Escoffier continues to be the world’'s foremost inventor of delectable dishes. He began his ca- reer at the Restaurant Francais at Nice in 1859, and he has been in the world of cooking ever since. In 1865 he was called to Paris to take charge of the famous old “Petit Moulin Rouge”—"not to be confounded,” the master exclaims vehemently, ‘‘with the present-Moulin Rouge,” a music hall. There he conducted one of the finest dininz establishments known to Paris until the war of 1870, when he entered the army and served part of the time as cuisinler extraordinary to the third Napoleon. After the war he returned to the Petit Moulin Rouge. But in '78 he married and began seeking new fields for his genius. In 1888 he took com- mand of the kitchens of the Savoy Hatel in London, and since then he hastbeen in the highest executive posi- tion with the Ritz company. Escoffier has prepared meals for practically every crowned head in his time. He has served the wealthiest men and the most famous women. He is the official inaugurator of Ritz res. taurants everywhere, when he appears as the pompous master of ceremonies, the connoisseur, the diplomat. In Jo- hannesburg, in Buenos Aires, in New York or Vienna. the touch of M. Now, coffier Is to be detected in the dining | rooms. Hie 1= a complex arl. e must e. | judge which vegetables may best be | vaten with which meats; what sauces £0 on what dishes; what desserts fol- low the chosen elaborate meal. He belongs to several societies in France whose meetings are devoted exclusive Iy to such problems—La Table Fran- se, he mentioned in particular and in these circles the word Iscof fler goes almost unquestioned. “What would you serve to a king?"” I demanded. Again Escoffier laughed, his mus. taches bristling like those of a gen eral asked how he would lead a charge. He selzed a pen and began ing, furiously. Voici!—here, 1 will make you a| royal menu.” M. Escoffier is a busy man, and M. Scotto seemed even a busier one, pre- paring for the great banquet which took place on the 25th. So I betook myself with my menu to Cesare Mo- neta, a noted New York chef who worked once with Escoffier in London. “I have Kscoffier's royal menu here,” I said. “It makes my mouth water. But how do you cook these things? Moneta proved as eager an instruc- tor as his former master. He began: “The avant l'ceuvre is very small, thin square of toast on which are spread anchovies or tomato paste or some other tasty relish. These are served before entering the dining room, while the guests are gathering. Formerly they used to go with the cocktail. aviar explanation needs no AUGUSTE _ ESCOFFIER, MOST CELEBRATED OF FRENCH CHEFS, AT THE AGE OF 80. Crepes are prepared cakes, but are made more delicately and rolled into thin tubes. Boil the shrimps and the tomatoes together. “To make the confomme of Es- MOST PLANT PESTS OF ALIEN ORIGIN The more important pests of agri- | culture and forestry in the United States are of foreign origin, according to the Federal Horticulture Board. which acts as the police authority of the Department of Agriculture in carrying out the provisions of the plant quarantine act, by regulating the entry of foreign plants and plant products into this country. Prior to 1912 there was no Federal law which gave authority to restrict or safeguard in any way the entry of plants or plant products for the pur- pose of excluding such pests. There are many hundreds of minor imported pests and at least a hundred major plant pests. It is conservatively esti- mated that such imported farm and forest pests now cause crop losses of upward of a billion dollars a year. The first and unsuccessful attempt to secure national plant quarantine legislation followed the San Joe scale scare in the early nineties. The sec- ond and ultimately successful effort to enact domestic crop protection was occasioned by the risk which became very apparent in the vears 1908 and 1909 of the entry and wide distri- bution throughout the United States of the gipsy and brown-tail moths through importations of uninspected nursery stock. Other dreaded enemies of agriculture were the potato wart disease and Mediterranean fruit fly. The membership of the ederal Horticulture Board is composed of representatives of the Bureau of Plant Industry, Forestry and Entomology, appointed by the Secretary of Agricul ture. The board, under the provisions of the plant quarantine act, not only | regulates the entry of foreign plants and their products, but supervises do- mestic plant quarantines, to pre- vent the spread within the United States of such ‘pests as the pink.boll- worm, Japanese beetle, European corn | borer, citrus canker, white pine blis- ter rust, black stem rust, flag smut, take-all diseases of wheat and thur- beria weevil. For the enforcement of its various quarantine and regulatory orders, the board maintains an Inspection serv- ice at the principal ports of entry of the United States and along the Mexi- can porder and in Porto Rico. The hoard alge'provides for the disin fection at specified ports of entry of | all imported lint cotton, involving the control about half a million hales | | ficials and some 30 foreign coun tries cooperate with the board in the administration of its quarantine mea sures. The most innocent and postal imports often prove to tain extremely harmful insec ing to the vigilant plant inspector: the recent disco of bollworms in a_shipment of Japanese base When the crates were opened exemplified by for examination a Government in!pec'ur{ aken found that one of the base balls at random from the consignment did not bounce straight. The removal of the hide disclosed that the core was made of infected cotton seed. A viclous swat of a base ball bat eventually would have scattered the pests far beyond the confines of a base ball park. Cotton seed is some- times present in fireworks of Japanese manufacture. The imports of Avocado pears from Mexico into Texas require special scrutiny by plant quarantine officials because of ' the danger of Mediter- ranean fruit flies, and the ingenuity of the Mexican peon in attempting to smuggle the tropical delicacy across the border. Recently an Indian woman was frustrated in an effort to elude the frontier authorities. when they noticed that the bundle she was ing, purporting to « of bread, seemed inordinately heavy She had cleverly concealed an alliga- tor pear in the center of each Unfortunately for her, the pears were infested with fruit files. Tailless Airplane. BRITISH engineer who has in- vented an airplane that is claimed to be the safest and most flexible ever built has succeeded in turning out a machine that can be operated at speeds varying from 10 to 200 miles an hour. According to the designer, no ad- ditional or violent stresses can take place even when the aviator flattening out after a volplane: and the machine has no tail to'be broken in climbing. He says that it is abso- lutely impossible for his machine to corkserew, overturn or “loop-the. 1oop.” His model is said to be radi cally different from that of any other airplane, but nevertheless capable of using any of the usual airplane en- know the Ingredientgqof all foods and lannuu.l)'t . Oxer..a hundred State of- gines and propéllers. ¥ looking freight | irveillance of the | | tain loaves loaf. | is | | coffier take one chicken to four peo- vle, place in a gallon of water, with celery and parsley, salt and pepper to taste, boil for three-quarters of an hour. Then drop in several large pieces of beef -marrow, allowing them to remain for only a second or two be fore you take the whole concoction off the fire. Strain and serve hot “Cheese paillettes are made of a thick paste, which is mostly Parmesan cheese, with a little egg and flour |added.” This is rolled into long, thin sticks and baked until crisp. ““Salmoned trout (truite saumonee) is delicious. It is ordinary brook | trout placed in cold water with suf | ficient vinegar to turn it red, or sal | mon color, at boiling. r rec | ommends champagne instead of water —but that is a dish for a king, not | for a prohibition American | onat, next on the bill of fare, are small fish, minnows, a little larger than white bait. Fried in oil, they are a favorite dish of the French. “The venison is to he baked in a hot oven until almost done. Then it is sprinkled with sherry or port and allowed to simmer a few moments longer. A handful of cherries, to give that delightfully different flavor, is added at_the last minute before the meat is finished. With this goes the chestnut puree—the meat of the chest nut boiled, strained and mixed with cream, hutter, salt and pepper to make a heavy paste upreme de foie gras is an inter esting dish to make. In one pan mix and beat your foie gras (zoose livers). cream and white of eggs until you have a creamy substance Season to taste. Then cook by placing this pan in another of water, which must boil until the paste becomes solid. Cover | pieces of this solid with jelly, and see it you don't like it Capon of Man corresponds in ance to our Philadelphia capon and needs no explanation to any house- ‘\\1f nor does heart of lettuce. As- | paragus may be made to look more green and fresh by the introduction of a little soda in the water, although I myself heartily disapprove of forc- ing vegetables in this way. | mousseline sauce i< a half-and-hal? mixture of hollandaise and yhipped am. rah Bernhardt strawhefries are a new invention of Escoffier. I only know that they would be some com- bination of ice cream and strawber. ries served in a tall tumbler, the ice cream not being frozen hard. With this sort of dessert royal biscult- small, thin chocolate cake baked in the shape of leaves, macaroons or other ornamental designs—is particu larly appropriate.' 0 this 1s what Escoffier would serve to a King. Tt is what he recom mends to average folk only for Sun day dinner. If you can get the veni son. the sherry and the champagne. here's luck to you. Rut I'll not he responsible if you it more than e a week! do Accuracy of Science. JFOR most of us the knowledge that a meter is 3.37 inches longer than vard is quite sufficient. We must know as much as that, because metric sysiem of measures is | widely employed that one con: | finds it necessary to turn mete feet or yards. But the refinements of modern science demand a far higher | degree of accuracy in measurement |than is perhaps ever dreamed of in the ordinary walks of life. The pains taken to obtain precise standards of measure are almost beyond belief of one who is not familiar with scientific methods. very one knows that so-called standard bars, on which the exact length of the yard and the meter are marked, are in the possession of the governments of the United States. | Great Britain, France and other coun tries, but every one does not know with what care these standards have | been compared and with what pa- tience they have been minutely meas ured again and again. a